Rendezvous at Siripade
We rested at Seetha Gangula, beneath a December night sky,
Three friends and I, climbing the mighty mountain,
Sipped steaming coffee in the chilling air,
Hoping to greet the summit and witness the dawn’s golden face.
Amidst the pilgrims at Seetha Gangula,
An old woman caught my eye—
With a ‘Nade’ of five companions,
She savored her coffee, her spirits high.
Her faint smile lingered as our gazes met.
She came toward me with hurried steps,
Settled quietly near my side,
Her presence was warm despite the cold outside.
From Moratuwa, she shared her tale
Of treks and trails, both harsh and hale.
She seemed untouched by the arduous climb—
I guessed her age to be around sixty-five.
The wind howled, wrapped in mist’s shroud,
Even my layers couldn’t keep it out,
Yet she sat still, composed, serene,
Watching me through the icy sheen.
When her ‘Nade’ prepared to ascend once more,
She paused by me and softly implored:
“Karunawai,” she said with gentle grace.
I echoed the word, meeting her gaze.
She touched my arm, leaving a note,
A moment fleeting, yet one I wrote
Deep into memory, to ponder and keep—
Her presence lingered, even in sleep.
The next day, at home, I recalled the scene,
The folded note where it had been.
I opened it with sudden haste,
Curiosity stirring in time’s embrace.
I wrote to the address it bore,
And in two days, a reply I saw.
The letter spoke of a fateful day,
Four decades past, now far away.
“We were traveling to Galle, my husband and I,
In a car, beneath a tranquil sky.
Out of nowhere, a speeding vehicle came,
And left my world forever changed.
He was gone, my love of three years,
Lost in a moment, drowned in tears.
When I saw you, I was taken aback—
You are him, in face and track.”
Rodney Jayasuriya
Bhagavad Gita
I am a student preparing for
The O/L exam.
I study hard, breaking rest,
And sit for the test.
When the results come,
They are brilliant—
Distinctions in all seven subjects!
Now the question:
Are these brilliant results
Due to my efforts alone?
I am sure you will say, “Yes.”
But the Bhagavad Gita says, “No.”
The statement is:
“You have a right to action,
But not to the results thereof.”
Yes, the results were “given”
By a higher power.
Leaving aside the question
Of the truth of this statement,
It leaves us with an important reality:
That all of us are equal.
People have reached different levels in society
Not only due to their efforts
But because they were lucky.
Speaking on a personal note:
I worked hard to get my PhD,
But I would never have achieved it
Without the generosity of an external force.
This truth teaches humility.
So,
Please respect and treat everyone
With the same consideration.
Dr. Asoka Thenuwara
The Sensational Kumbukkan Oya
The hope of the scorching soil,
The Kumbukkan Oya,
The cool, soothing sensation of the dry zone—
What an elegant journey you lead,
Amidst the burning dry soil!
Your generous water
Flows gravely, tirelessly, at your own sweet will,
Over the pure smooth sand,
Over the multi-shaped pebbles,
Quenching the hot, thirsty soil
On sun-beaten, dreary lands
Of the dry zone.
Like a charming beauty,
Like a heavenly body,
You bring hope with your naive dance
Through the insatiably thirsty soil.
You give life to the multitude of fauna and flora,
Eliminating whether they are innocent or cruel.
The stunted, twisted, withered trees
Hopefully await your kind moisture,
And even the vicious-looking cacti,
Covered with myriads of thorny spikes,
When broken, seeping toxic liquids,
Welcome your blithe presence—
Blessing you unconditionally.
Along the banks, colossal Kumbukkan trees,
With many other giant trees,
Bow their tall tree tops,
And their boughs stretching and spreading over you,
As if to show you their awesome reverence.
Their roots compete, entangling
One another to embrace your never-denying cool water,
To show their uncurbed love,
Unstoppable, brimming, profound passion.
During the day,
Your crystal-fresh water,
Your tiny playful ripples,
Blend with the sunbeams
And shoot silver rays,
Blazing, dazzling the eyes of the viewer.
At the end of the day,
Many a farmer longs to dip their sweaty, tired bodies
In your refreshing water,
To feel nature’s priceless boon, the Kumbukkan Oya.
When water glides over the body,
They feel the water in gleeful rapture,
In every inch of the sunburnt body.
Their hot tempers become tamed,
So tamed they bring a contented, merry smile to their face.
After the holy bath of the Kumbukkan Oya,
Their love and affection, mingled with gratitude,
Prove their reverence to the great waters of the Kumbukkan Oya.
Flow, flow, flow,
The humble, charming, peerless beauty—the Kumbukkan Oya,
Nature’s cleanser of the dry zone.
D. H. Shanthiratne
Pollution
Once it was a delight to watch the sky at night,
With the sky displaying a galaxy of stars, and
The moon glowing with its beaming smile.
In recent times, the skies are no longer clear,
No glittering stars to admire or count at night.
The environment is dimmed with toxic gases, and
Severe pollution is on the rise.
Look at our waters that were crystal clear—
Rivers, streams, and lakes had fish in abundance.
The sea calmly flowed, embroiling waves small and large,
Lashing out its waters to the banks in all its fury.
Now the oceans bring forth only debris and waste to land.
Our forest trees were a haven, fanning the breeze,
With birds chirping and rendering musical tones.
Alas, with the jungles and lands cleared,
Our king trees felled for timber and industry,
Everything gone, with pollution taking center stage.
Why? Man is greedy and to blame for viciousness,
Warned umpteen times for encouraging pollution,
Not heeding solutions, and thereby spreading
Incurable and numerous sicknesses to the nation.
Reap what is sown, as the saying goes on and on.
’Tis never too late; let’s protect Mother Nature, and
Mankind could once again enjoy bountiful harvests.
Yasmin Jaldin
